


solivagant

by penhaligon



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Chronic Illness, Gen, Mute Link
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhaligon/pseuds/penhaligon
Summary: Solivagant:n.a lone wanderer.No one accompanies you on your journey, and yet, you are not alone.





	1. Brigo

**Author's Note:**

> This game is great at evoking a sense of loneliness and relief at seeing people after exploring sections of vast, apocalyptic wilderness, in part because you don't have a companion this time around. So: love letters to the NPCs in this game, in non-linear oneshot form, sometimes with a focus on interpreting the 'getting your health and stamina back but not completely' thing as unspecified chronic illness/fatigue/pain and related symptoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This chapter contains allusions to suicide, as per the conversation you have with the NPC on Proxim Bridge.

Central Hyrule is a wasteland.

Sunlight dapples the long grasses and bursts through patches of forest, an undulating green and gold that signals the yearly re-emergence of life. It has rained recently; the ground is spongy beneath your boots, and the breeze carries a petrichor scent. The clouds above are towering, the first feathery behemoths of spring, dispersing sunlight with cool shadows and promising that the recent rain will be far from the last.

There's a beauty to it, a kind that's easy to get lost in. A peace, if you set aside all thought and context.

And still, Central Hyrule is a wasteland.

Miles of emptiness stretch out before you. The wind is the only sound – no birdsong, no noise of animal life, though you know it must be there. As if it is hiding, cowering. You see no one, not a single living soul that isn't monstrous and bent on murder. You avoid bokoblins and moblins as you follow the road that meanders towards Dueling Peaks, not wanting to waste your strength or resources. You tell yourself that it's practical, not cowardly. Monsters always revive eventually. You're in a better state than you'd been in when you woke up, but not by much.

 _You fought valiantly when your fate took an unfortunate turn,_ a ghost had told you.

Occasionally, you pass ruins, old crumbling stone overgrown with green, a tangible testament to a failure you don't remember.

And looming above it all, though it's only a rippling speck in the distance that you could hardly see from the plateau and cannot see from lower ground, is the castle. Even when its distant smudge is not within your line of sight, you can feel it. The sensation of malevolence blankets the land like the shadow of a cloud more tremendous than the rest, and you try to tell yourself that it's merely your imagination. That you aren't really being watched.

 _You are the light – our light,_  a girl had told you. An intangible voice that you know and trust but don't remember, speaking to a pain in your heart that you can't name. Speaking to things in your mind that you have no access to, saying things that don't ring true.

Some light you are, you think, quietly passing a forest where the shadowy outlines of moblins lurk.

The orange glow of a shrine appears to your right as you round a hill, and you leave the road to activate it, turning orange to blue. The spirit of the monk within offers you its blessing, the same words that its brothers had spoken to you on the plateau, and then it vanishes. Another ghost, another fleeting presence that doesn't stay.

Beyond the shrine is a river, and the road leads right up to a bridge. It crumbles in places like the ruins you've passed, but it is still intact. There is a bokoblin camp far past it, on this side of the river, but you ignore it. You can see them, but unless you get close, they won't see you, near-sighted as they are.

As you come up to the bridge, you see something in the middle of it. Some _one_. Your hand grasps at your stolen bow before you can tell that it's not a bokoblin. You draw closer and realize that it's a Hylian.

You stop, heart leaping into your throat. You know that the world isn't utterly devoid of people because of your failure one hundred years ago – you wouldn't be heading to a village if it was. But it's easy to forget that there is more than monsters and trees, more than ghosts and a castle cloaked in malice hovering at the edges of your mind.

This is the first normal person you've seen since you woke up. You rush forward, and it only occurs to you after the fact that this person might not be friendly, but your brief concern proves to be unwarranted. The man is taller than you and carries a spear. He looks out over the bridge towards something in the water, muttering to himself, and you follow his gaze.

You stumble to a halt again, muscles locking and throat closing for reasons you don't understand.

A Guardian, resting on a small peninsula that juts out into the river. No light shines from its eye or illuminates the grooves in its form. It looks dead, but so had the ones at the Ja Baij shrine. Those had been stuck in the ground, and yet you'd found a way to sneak around the very much alive one that had fired at you, unwilling to face its lasers. You don't understand the terror that seizes you every time you lay eyes on one – even the ones that are most definitely dead. It's instinctive and all-consuming, and it doesn't befit someone who's supposed to face the Calamity.

You become aware that the man is speaking to you, having noticed your approach. With difficulty, you force yourself to look away from the Guardian – it's dead, you tell yourself, it's _dead_ – and tune in to the man's voice.

He's talking at speeds that are hard to follow, saying something about bad omens and the end of the world, then asking who you are, then saying how glad he is to have someone else to talk to. You give yourself an internal shake, trying to bring your senses under control, and finally, the man's voice sounds clearer.

"Did you see them?" he asks. You must have missed something else he said, but he clarifies immediately. "I'm not talking about mushrooms here! I'm talking about those towers! They seem to have popped up all over the place!" He's wringing his hands on the spear as he talks. "And that's not the only strange thing that's happened. Those long-deserted shrines suddenly started glowing! You know what this means, don't you? The end is here!"

It means that you woke up and activated the Great Plateau's tower, and that the end has already come, and that you're supposed to fix it, but you only offer a noncommittal nod.

"With all this craziness happening, I've been keeping an eye on that thing," the man says, indicating the Guardian. "Just to see if it suddenly starts moving, ya know?"

Your insides twist, and you are careful not to look. You nod again, encouraging, and the man launches into a story about how one tried to kill him, closer to the castle.

"I hear they still wander around there," he finishes. "You be careful."

You try to keep your face neutral, so as not to betray your pounding heart. The castle will be your destination eventually.

"Anyway, name's Brigo," the man says, tapping his spear on the ground. "Sorry about that. I don't see too many people around here regularly, and I tend to get carried away talking. Do you need anything?"

You do, actually. King Rhoam had told you to consult the map on the Sheikah slate for guidance, but much of it remains frustratingly empty, and you know that you'll have to activate the other Sheikah towers to obtain its lost data. A tower glows in the distance, and you hope that it will give you the information you need about the area. You've probably left Central Hyrule behind at this point, but you don't know much beyond that. Rhoam had told you to take the path leading through the Dueling Peaks, but everything is much bigger than it had seemed from the plateau. This road could veer off into parts unknown, for all you know, and you can't shake a small but persistent uncertainty, unfounded though it likely is.

You raise your hands to ask if he can give you directions, but the surety of the movements gives way to hesitation as Brigo looks on uncomprehendingly.

"Can you talk?" he asks. When you shake your head, he offers you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I don't know any sign language."

You drop your hands, frowning, and get the sudden sense that communication is going to be a problem with a lot of the people you meet. Rhoam had been able to understand your primary sign language without difficulty, struggling only when you'd unconsciously switched into a different one whose origin you don't remember, but then again, he'd known you once.

You rest your hands on your hips, one of them draped absently over the Sheikah slate, and contemplate how to communicate your question. You suppose you could scratch it out in the dirt, if nothing else. You haven't forgotten how to write, at least.

Then you look down at the slate, narrowing your eyes in thought.

There's a small input pad on the bottom with the symbols of the Hylian alphabet, presumably meant for calling up some the slate's functions that remain a mystery to you. You hesitate, then slowly spell out a question instead, careful to avoid hitting the symbol meant to confirm commands.

_Is this the way to Kakariko._

It shows up above the input pad in small letters, but it's legible. You hold up the slate for Brigo, and he peers at it, looking interested. "You're on the right track. The village is that way," he says, turning and pointing to the peaks in the distance. "On the other side of Dueling Peaks is a stable. You can stop there and ask someone for further directions."

Your heart jumps at the words. The emptiness of Central Hyrule and the Great Plateau is all you've seen, and even though Kakariko Village is your destination, it's been hard to imagine that there's more to the world, actual groups of people gathered under one banner. A stable means that there is some measure of safety that people have been able to find. That you haven't left the land in total ruins.

You nod and hit the symbol that you're pretty sure deletes the text on the slate's screen, and a little sigh of relief runs through you when it does. You key in another phrase, trying to go faster and fumbling. This will take some getting used to. _Thank you._

"You're welcome," Brigo says with a smile. "That's a neat gadget you have there. I've never seen anything like it. Kind of looks like those shrines, don't you think?"

You nod again. He's more right than he realizes.

Brigo shuffles a bit, grasping self-consciously at the arm holding the spear. "Uh... you can ask me whatever you want, if you need anything else. I'm happy to chat with you awhile."

It's phrased as a casual statement, but you know that it's a plea. You wonder how long he's been out here by himself, why he's alone and far from any settlement, so you enter another question into the slate. _What are you doing._  

Brigo taps his spear on the stone again. "Just patrolling. This bridge is an important route." A note of pride enters his voice. "I keep really busy making sure monsters don't nest here, by chasing them off the bridge and stuff."

You erase the previous message from the slate and enter a new one. _That's brave._

Brigo looks somewhere between pleased and flustered. "I'm just doing my part to help out," he says, hands twisting about the spear. "Least I can do, ya know?"

You nod and tap on the slate again, a little reluctantly. As much as you want to stay and talk, Brigo's words remind you that you have your own part to play. You lift the slate up. _I need to go. Take care of yourself._

Brigo looks a little disappointed. "Alright. Don't let me keep you."

Your fingers are still clumsy at entering words, and you make an error and have to backtrack, but Brigo waits. _I don't know when but_ _I should be passing by this way again._

Brigo smiles broadly. "Oh, that's great! I'll keep this bridge free of monsters for you," he jokes, then jerks the spear in your direction in a kind of sloppy salute. "Let's wish each other good luck, eh? We'll need it!"

You nod, smiling, and watch as Brigo turns and continues his patrol of the bridge, drifting down towards the opposite end. Then, as if drawn by outside forces, your head turns slowly towards the river. Towards the Guardian. Your tense again and take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. How are you supposed to do your job if you can't even go near a Guardian?

Maybe you'd get over it if you spent more time around them. There are plenty of dead ones around that don't wake up when someone gets close, and from what Brigo had said, this one appears to be as dead as the others. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to approach any of the dead Guardians on the plateau, but here, having just talked to a man risking his safety to keep the bridge free, you feel suddenly foolish about that.

You hook the Sheikah slate back onto your belt and clamber up onto the side of the bridge, wanting to get a better look at the Guardian to ensure that it's really dead. Instantly, you freeze again, muscles locking and trembling as you stand there, swaying a little.

Goddess _damn_ it. You can't even get a closer look without reacting.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Brigo’s panicky voice reaches you, and you turn to glance down at him, grateful to have an excuse to look away. He's running back towards you, looking alarmed.

You frown, wondering if the Guardian is more alive than you thought.

"You won't change the world by jumping carelessly to your doom, don't ya know!" Brigo skids to a halt and holds his hands out imploringly towards you, dropping his spear.

You almost want to laugh at the assumption. Almost. Something shifts uncomfortably in your gut. Your relationship with death is complicated, to say the least. You shake your head, trying to dismiss the notion and quell Brigo's distress.

"That would only do one thing, and that's drive me batty!" Brigo continues, his eyes wide. "Think of the shock I'd suffer, seeing something like that!"

You hop down from the ledge onto solid stone and shake your head again, grabbing the Sheikah slate. As you tap away at it, haste making you clumsier, Brigo keeps talking, nervousness speeding up his already quick speech.

"You're fine," he insists. "Don't be so careless. There are too many enjoyable things in the world to gamble with your life!"

You hold the slate up for him at last. _I wasn't going to jump. I just wanted to get a look at that Guardian._

Brigo's agitation fades, and a sheepish look crawls onto his face. "Oh," he says. "Really?" When you nod, he crouches down to pick up his spear and then leans on it, releasing a heavy, relieved breath. "Man! Don't ever do something like that again! You almost gave me a heart attack. Seriously!"

 _I'm sorry,_ you tap into the slate. After a moment's hesitation, you add, _Thanks for trying to stop me anyway._

Brigo nods. The look he gives you makes you wonder if he thinks that maybe you're lying after all. "I'll stay here and chat with you for a bit, if you'd like," he offers, not bothering to hide it. As if he wants to keep an eye on you.

You shake your head. You're moved by the offer, by the fact that all you've encountered in this world are ghosts and monsters and someone who cares whether you live or die even though he doesn't know you, but that's why you are suddenly itching to get going.

Though Brigo is still eyeing you with faint suspicion, he doesn't protest. He merely sighs. "Just be careful out there," he says. "Okay?"

You promise that you will with a nod and turn to leave, deciding to forego any closer examination of the Guardian. As you make your way across the rest of the bridge, you can tell that Brigo is watching you, no doubt concerned that you'll try something once out of sight. But you resist the urge to turn around and look, knowing that if you do, you'll likely be drawn back, to hide in conversation with someone who doesn't have expectations of you and doesn't want to kill you.

Instead, you keep your eyes forward and press on.

It isn't long before you come across a roving band of bokoblins. Six of them amble up the road, armed and clearly on the hunt for travelers. You're far enough away that they haven't noticed you yet. They will soon, however. They're heading in your direction. Towards the bridge.

This time, you don't avoid the confrontation. You lift the boko bow off of your back, and your arrow takes one of the creatures squarely in the throat, your aim guided by practice that you can't recall. Lost memory and a hundred years of sleep haven't dulled your raw skills. It's done a number on your speed and reaction time, though, so you don't bother trying to take any more out with arrows when they start charging at you, alerted to your presence, crude shields up. Calmly, you reposition your bow at your back and draw your sword. It's as common as they come, a simple traveler's sword, according to some certainty whose source is lost to you. But it gets the job done.

It takes a little longer than you would like, with one too many grazes from enemy weapons. You're not as strong, not as coordinated, not as fast as a knight would have been. The atrophy that Rhoam had explained is still there. It's left you with a recurring fatigue and weakness that sneaks up on you in the wake of actions that shouldn't tire you as much as they do, and sometimes it seizes you even without those provocations, along with deep aches and pains that come and go and a propensity for headaches and getting ill.

You'd made progress working through it on the plateau, but it will take time and effort to get back up to the physical state you'd been in before the Calamity. You don't even remember that state of being. In your mind, you've always been easily tired and prone to pain. How long it will take to recover, the king hadn't been able to say, citing that he only knew so much. Elixirs can temporarily alleviate the symptoms, he'd told you, and divine intervention will help to speed up the healing process, but blessings from the gods aren't something that you can just pluck from a tree branch.

He'd also mentioned the possibility that you'd never reach that state again. The Shrine of Resurrection is an imperfect and largely theoretical science, after all. It had taken one hundred years to revive you and had taken so much from your memory and your body in the process, leaving you with atrophy and scars.

Nevertheless, bokoblins are some of the less fearsome monsters that roam the world, and when they lay dead at your feet, you take a step back, breathing heavily and swallowing as vertigo begins to creep up on you. You know that you're going to pay for the fight later. When you'd first woken up, you hadn't been able to carry on with much of anything for very long without tiring. Now, you can go for maybe half a day before the exertion catches up with you and demands that you cease, as long as you're careful about how you manage your energy and don't push your luck.

It doesn't seem like you're going to be that lucky out here, however. You still your body and breath, and you watch and listen, making sure that no other enemies are forthcoming, drawn by the commotion. When none present themselves, you nod to yourself, wipe down your sword, and sheath it. Ganon's blood moon will bring the creatures back eventually, and more may come along, a ceaseless tide that can only be stemmed by the monumental task before you. A task that suddenly feels real, tangible, like the real and tangible person you've just left behind.

For now, the bridge will be safe for a little longer.


	2. The Korok Forest

The blue sparks of ancient magic and technology fade, leaving your body intact. Green replaces blue, and you look out at a sea of trees and long grasses, illuminated by filtered gold sunlight that floats down from the tangled canopy of leaves high above. At your right, a massive trunk rises, so large that its top is a mere point in the sky and its canopy envelops a forest that has grown up under it. The reaches of the Great Deku Tree's branches mark the borders of its own little world, a contained ecosystem hidden away from the larger world that few can enter.

You attach the Sheikah slate to your belt and step off of Keo Ruug's platform, breathing in the scent of forest, rich and heady with growing life. Something about it and its baseless familiarity is comforting to you, a balm for recently reopened wounds that you hadn't known you had. The dense, placid nature of forest is different from the sprawling, dynamic nature of water. Maybe you need the change, for a little while.

You circle around the Deku Tree's trunk, ducking under and around a root that rises as high as your head, and you soon reach an area steeped in more sunlight - the front of the tree, where it watches over the Master Sword. The pedestal is visible nearby, and for all that it is dwarfed by the Deku Tree's size, the sword draws the eye even more.

 _It is no doubt resting somewhere in Hyrule even now,_ King Dorephan had said after expressing surprise at seeing you without it, reminding you of yet another task you hadn't completed,  _waiting for its master to return._

You don't look at the Master Sword directly, but it dwells at the edges of your senses, ever-present. You glance up at the Deku Tree instead as you finally reach its front. It appears to be sleeping, and the observation brings you to a halt.

You don't want to attempt this without the tree's permission - it is the Master Sword's guardian, after all - but you feel suddenly hesitant and intrusive about waking it up. Maybe you'll wait, as much as you are chafing to have the sword already in your hand. This place is one of the safest you can name. You could sleep in the open without precautions and wake up just fine, aside from curious Koroks making off with a few of your things and promptly forgetting to give them back. And the little forest spirits are always eager to feed you.

Decision made, you head towards the hollow in the Deku Tree's trunk. A few Koroks are gathered outside of it, waving you over. "Hello, Mr. Hero!" Chio says from its perch on one of the jutting roots. Nearby, Maca adds its own greeting.

You grin, waving in answer, and then the ground trembles beneath your feet.

"Hmm?" A sleepy voice reverberates through the air. "Is that a visitor?"

Koroks don't know Hylian or Sheikah sign language, so you offer them a gesture that's clearly apologetic and turn to face the Deku Tree with your hands on your hips, waiting for it to rouse itself.

It does so slowly, with many a yawn that crackles like snapping branches. "Good morning, Link," it says at last. "Or is it afternoon? I lose track of time when I drift off like that." It gives itself a little shake and then stills. You feel its attention settle on you fully, and though its facsimile of a face is difficult to read, it seems to be regarding you with amusement. "I sense that you want something."

 _I'm here for the sword,_ you sign. During your first visit, the Deku Tree had explained that language is no barrier for it; its roots spread farther than you can imagine, and it sees and hears and learns much.

Your prompt request banishes the rest of the tree's lingering sleepiness. It stirs, amusement gone and leaves swelling in surprise, and the earth under your feet creaks. "Are you certain?"

You nod.

"Hmm," the tree rumbles, and its obvious doubt chips away at some of your confidence, but you muster yourself and listen. "If you hope to pull the sword from its resting place, you must use your true strength." You feel its attention boring into you, evaluating. "I don't doubt your conviction or courage, young one, but I do not know whether you possess such strength yet. As I said before, there is a great physical risk."

You shrug. Every day is a risk in this world. But the pressure is mounting, and the Master Sword would halve some of that risk. Ganon's waterblight servant had been a tough fight, and your hand had itched for a hilt that should have been there. You'd managed, but barely. It had been several days before you'd felt well enough to leave Zora's Domain, after the fight.

_If you sought to free the sword in any sort of weakened state, you would surely lose your life where you stand._

Mipha's spirit had given you a blessing, and you know that her healing power flows just under your skin, ready to spring into action when your need is dire enough. Maybe it will help to eliminate some of the risk present in this endeavor. You don't know if her power could stand against the strength of the Master Sword, should it come to that, but the knowledge of its presence is soothing, an advantage that you didn't have before, and you can't wait forever.

_Because of your courage, my spirit is now free._

You feel the presence of the Master Sword burning at your back, calling.

 _I want to try,_ you sign. Your fingers stay curled inwards against your palms for a long moment before dropping.

The wind rustles through the Deku Tree's leaves in a sigh. "Do what you must," it says, with a hint of exasperation. "But be cautious. We cannot afford to lose you."

You nod and turn around, resolute.

The Master Sword rests serenely in its pedestal, the stone overgrown with moss and grasses that sneak through small cracks. Wreathed in green-tinted sunlight, the sword is almost unassuming against its wild backdrop, but it draws your attention no matter what corner of the forest you're in. If you let them, your feet would trace a path to it without any conscious direction from you. A yearning flows both ways through the air between you and the blade, electric and heartening.

The sword calls to you. It had drawn you to the Korok Forest weeks ago, drawn you through the harrowing paths of the Lost Woods, and though you had heeded the Deku Tree's warning then, the call had remained with you, pulling your thoughts irrevocably back towards it every day since.

_As you are now, I cannot say whether you are worthy or not._

You'd worked hard since then, strengthening yourself, pushing yourself through the atrophy with elixirs and blessings and sheer determination, and you know it's paid off. You _are_ stronger than you'd been during your first visit to the Korok Forest. You've even taken on one of the Divine Beasts and won, and you'd freed-

But you turn your thoughts away forcibly, before your mood has a chance to plummet in its entirety, as you approach the sword.

You place your travel pack at the base of the pedestal, then step up onto the stone and stand in front of the sword. Reverently, you reach out. Your hands hover over the hilt and pause, and you can't quite stop them from trembling. The air itself quakes as well, like the invisible quivering in the infinitesimal span of time before lightning arrives, but extended, an eternal limbo of waiting for something to strike.

You take the deepest breath you can manage, wrap your hands around the hilt of the Master Sword, and pull.

Immediately, a sensation of _power_ ripples through your very being. It stings, and it carries whispers of memories that are not the ones you lost. They are too quick and transitory to understand, but the yawning, ancient void of time brushes up against your mind, and strength flees your legs as another wave of power and pain buckles them. You stagger, wincing, but you grit your teeth and hang on, straining against the weight of eons.

 _The sword stands as a test to anyone who would dare attempt to possess it,_ the Deku Tree had said. You are going to pass this test. You will not let go because of a little pain.

Another wave, and this time, it's as if you are burning, as if the power contained in the Master Sword is a fire that wants to ignite and consume you. The lines of scars across your skin begin to blaze like rivers of flame. A sense of urgency enters your mind, a push to let go, but you dig your heels into the stone beneath them and keep your breathing as steady as you can. You won't fail. You _won't_.

Another wave.

Another.

And another.

You remember falling, sleeping, transforming, sky and wood and darkness, water and death and worlds not your own. Flashes of other, you and not you, strong and clear for fleeting moments before they are cast out of your mind by raw hurt.

The next wave is agony, pain that is yours and not yours, and you only stay upright because your grip on the Master Sword has gained a life of its own. You feel as if you are unraveling at the fault lines of your scars, as if everything that makes up who you are is being pulled in all directions at once, subsumed by something greater than yourself. As if your physical body will crumble in the next few moments, unable to withstand the onslaught of power and lifetimes.

And finally, fear blossoms in your chest.

All at once, you panic, hyperventilating and trying to let go, but pain has your fingers rigid and immobile, unable to uncurl. The process of peeling them from the hilt is agonizingly slow, and when another wave of white hot anguish hits you, carrying with it flashes of battles you never fought, your hands reflexively clench, tighter than before.

You think a sob of despair rips itself from your throat, or maybe it's a strangled, silent scream. You can't tell over the roaring in your ears. You should've listened to the Deku Tree. Should've waited, should've tried harder to become stronger, should've-

A force envelops you and _shoves_ , hard. The strength of it tears your hands away from the sword, and you hit the ground as if struck.

The stone of the pedestal is warm and solid beneath your cheek. Everything else spins, threatens to cave into darkness, and your entire body shakes like you've just run for miles without stopping. Your eyes are closing of their own accord, and you fear that they'll never open again, that you've failed utterly because you were too stubborn to heed the Deku Tree's warning this time. But you can't do anything about that now. You have nothing left, not even the strength to control your eyelids.

But you feel no attempt at healing grace, no whisper of Mipha's presence – just pain and trembling exhaustion, rushing to consume your waking mind. You aren't dying, then. Hopefully.

Little Koroks pop out of the grass and crowd around you, their fearful squeaks a mass of noise that your ringing ears and fading awareness can't make sense of, and your last moment of coherence, before oblivion takes you, is spent contemplating how unbearable the thought of letting them down is.

* * *

A girl with golden hair yells at you, and it doesn't bother you as much as it once had. You know she's hurting, trying to displace that hurt, though you don’t know why or how you know this. You reach out, trying to reassure her, to pull her back to you, but she's gone, riding away on a horse as a storm cloud descends, and panic rises in your throat so violently that you choke on it.

You wake up gasping and clawing at your throat, scattering a few dozen leaves in the process.

A slight pressure settles on your chest a second later, right when you begin to realize that there's nothing obstructing your breath and that air can, in fact, get in and out of your lungs with no problem. A tiny leaf-masked face hovers above yours and emits a squeak. "Mr. Hero! Are you alright?"

You blink, no longer gasping but still gulping down air. The orange-tinted brown above you is spinning, but you blink again, and the spinning transitions into more of a sluggish tilt, while the indistinct color becomes tree bark lit by a soft glow. It takes you a moment to recognize which Korok is standing on your chest. Pepp. The one who made a bed for you.

You feel Pepp trembling, tiny vibrations against your ribs, and you nod quickly, bringing your labored breathing under control. The last thing you want to do is scare the Koroks even more.

You're alive and in the hollow, but the relief is quickly soured, and you stifle a groan. A phantom tingling hovers at your fingertips, as if some of the Master Sword's power still clings to you. Lead has sunk into your bones in the aftermath like a days-old ache, and the entire spiderweb of scars covering your body is sore. You feel weak, limp, like you haven't eaten in days. You wonder how long it's been.

"You really had us worried, Mr. Hero!" Pepp says, bouncing on your chest in excitement at seeing you awake. You can't bring yourself to indicate that the Korok should get off, even though your chest twinges a bit. "But the Deku Tree told us to take care of you, and we did! Hestu carried you in here, and I made sure this bed was extra comfortable for you, and Natie and Daz got lots of food. And I've been watching over you," Pepp says proudly. "A whole day!"

That's the thing about Koroks - they can't read Hylian or understand either sign language of yours, but they're fluent in spoken Hylian and they talk enough that most of your questions get answered anyway, if the Deku Tree isn't interpreting. They're good about making sure that their questions are yes-or-no, too.

You smile and nod your thanks, then mime sitting up. Pepp hops down to the ground, still chattering away, as you gingerly lift yourself into a sitting position.

"I was afraid that you'd been badly hurt, but the Deku Tree didn't think the sword would allow that, and oh-" Pepp falls silent when you throw out a hand to steady yourself against the ground and keep yourself from toppling back over, "it said that you'd be very tired, though, and that we're supposed to keep you resting for a while, so please, don't try to do too much just yet!"

You aren't planning on it. You had been a few seconds ago, but a sudden dizzy spell is making you begrudgingly reconsider the notion of getting to your feet.

There is something significant in Pepp's words, but you are too tired and ashamed to dwell on it just yet. Instead, you take stock of your surroundings. Nearby, your travel pack and weapons and shield and paraglider are tucked against the wall, and at the foot of Pepp's leaf bed is a woven basket full of wild fruits, vegetables, and mushrooms. With a jolt, you realize how hungry you are. The dizzy spell has not abated, however, and the desire to eat and the desire to evade nausea war within you. Of course, if you don't eat soon, you'll experience far worse than nausea, and that decides the battle for you.

"Let me get that!" Pepp says, following your eyes. The Korok moves fast, and the basket is in your hands in the next moment. You nod again, eyeing the stack of food appreciatively. It's simple stuff, but you're too tired to make use of the cooking pot in the middle of the hollow, and you don't mind. Simple is probably better right now, with the way your stomach lurches uncomfortably if you so much as tilt your head.

As it turns out, you have little difficulty eating, and half the basket is gone before you know it. Pepp watches you the entire time, apparently taking its job very seriously, and the sight is too endearing to make you uncomfortable. "Are you feeling better now, Mr. Hero?" the Korok asks, when you set the basket aside.

Another nod. Not much, but some strength has returned to you, enough that sitting up no longer feels like a monumental effort. Deprived of immediate distraction now, you cannot help but think back to why you feel so terrible in the first place, and you try not to cringe as your stomach swoops low, as if it wants to sink into the earth and take you with it. Something of it must show in your face, because Pepp moves a little closer to you, peering up at you intently.

"Are you sure?" the Korok asks, earnest.

You nod again, listlessly, and it is perhaps the least convincing you've ever been.

Pepp stands there for a moment, unreadable, then abruptly scampers off. You watch it go, thinking about your first arrival here a few weeks ago. How the Koroks had been overjoyed to see you, brimming with excitement at meeting 'Mr. Hero.' How they'd gathered resources to help you, should you ever need them. How they speak to you with such faith, confident that their hero can do anything. How you can't pull the Master Sword from its pedestal, when you'd been able to a hundred years ago. You can't even remember that victory.

A Goddess statue stands within the hollow. Though it doesn't face you, you imagine that it's gazing upon you, judging you. You drop your head into your hands and rub at your eyes, trying to dispel the prickling at their corners. You are _not_ going to cry right now, you tell yourself sternly. Not in front of the Koroks.

A sudden influx of rustling and chatter enters the hollow, and you look up to find that a small army of Koroks has arrived, conversing amongst themselves in their clacking, wind-on-wood language and switching to Hylian as they address you. They cluster around you, Pepp at their head, and you are a little bewildered under the onslaught of a dozen voices clamoring for your attention.

"You're awake!"

"Are you okay?"

"Did you like the food, Mr. Hero?"

You keep nodding, assuring Peeks that you're okay and Natie and Daz that the food had been great, and the bombardment continues, three different recounts of your botched attempt to pull the sword being laid out for you all at once.

"You sure are strong, Mr. Hero," Maca says. "You held on for so long, I thought you were a goner!"

"It was amazing!" Kula says. "But it was scary, too."

"We've never seen anything like it," says Pepp, who stands nearest to you. And then, in mounting distress, "Oh, Mr. Hero, don't cry! When I'm sad, having my siblings around always makes me feel better. I thought this would help."

You nod quickly, trying to stop the tears leaking out of your eyes. You wouldn't even know how to begin communicating that this isn't sadness, and you don't want Pepp to feel bad, so, with arduous effort and a deep breath, you blink away some of the wetness and smile. You offer a thumbs-up, a gesture that's fairly well-known across cultures, and hope that the meaning is clear.

Pepp pats your knee with a tendril, relieved, and a barrage of conversation begins again, as you diligently try to keep up.

* * *

Another full day passes before you're able to stand, even with the help of elixirs. Pepp is your constant companion during that time, and other Koroks flit in and out of the hollow, bringing you food, gifts, or simply their company, in what is clearly a conspiratorial effort to cheer you up. You remember that you have a few things for them as well - Peeks is thrilled with the image of the blupee that you managed to capture on the Sheikah slate, Kula rarely lets go of the ice rod once you deliver it, and other odds and ends that you've picked up on your travels end up in Korok tendrils. In return, you are given no time or space to wallow.

Once you begin indicating that you want to get up and leave the hollow, Hestu squeezes inside, bearing a thick branch that's been shaped into something between a cane and a crutch.

"There you go!" Hestu says, proudly presenting it to you. "The Deku Tree said you might need some help getting around for a while. I made this myself!"

You accept it gratefully, breathing around a sudden lump in your throat. Hestu and Pepp and Chio all surround you as you climb painfully to your feet, ready to catch you if you fall, although you'd probably crush the latter two if you did. Mindful of that, you don't rush the process, and you are able to rise without undue difficulty. The dizziness is still present, and your scars hurt, and your limbs are still fatigued, but it's a manageable kind of weakness now, one that will at least allow you to move around. As much as you are appreciative of the Koroks' attention, you don't think you can stand another day of sitting still and doing nothing.

Most of all, you want to talk to the Deku Tree.

You'd climbed up onto some of its arching roots to hold conversation with the tree before, but that kind of exertion is out of the question right now. Instead, you limp over and sit down at the base of the Master Sword's pedestal, looking anywhere but the sword as you do. You are all too aware of its presence at your back, but you shove it out of your mind, set your crutch down beside you, and look up at the Deku Tree. Hestu and Chio retreat, but Pepp does not. The Korok sits at your side, and you give it a small thumbs-up.

"How are you feeling?" the Deku Tree asks.

You consider the question and sign a short answer, bringing a thumb up to your chest. _Fine._

A laugh erupts from the tree, shaking the ground. "Hah! I'm sure you are, young one. Ready for another try, are you?"

You say nothing, feeling your face flush.

"A hundred years ago, you would have been able to pull the sword out easily," the Deku Tree says, its humor fading. "You have grown weak."

The blunt statement deepens the flush in your face, but you have no argument against it. At your side, Pepp stirs, bouncing a little in indignation. "He's trying!" the Korok says defensively. "You don't need to be mean!"

"I am not being mean, little one," the Deku Tree says, patient. "I am stating a simple truth. I think you'll find that he agrees."

Pepp looks up at you, and you bite your lip and nod. The Korok doesn't say anything further, settling down again, but you feel one of its tendrils come to rest on top of your hand.

You gaze up at the Deku Tree again, and facing it is easier than you'd thought it would be. You know that you're a failure, that you have much to make up for, too much, and you know now that a few months of trying isn't going to cut it. Isn't going to make you worthy again. The knowledge hurts, but that hurt will fuel you when nothing else does, like your few scattered and newly recovered memories do.

"I see in your eyes that you haven't been deterred," the Deku Tree rumbles. "Though perhaps you will be more cautious next time." It falls ponderously silent for a moment. "Do you know what happened when you attempted to pull the sword?"

You wonder what kind of question that is. After a few seconds of consideration, in which you figure that it's best to get to the point, you sign, _I wasn't worthy._ You shove your pinched fingers together on the last word, a forceful, unhappy movement.

But another boom of laughter echoes throughout the forest, and you frown. "One would assume that," the tree says. "But do you think the sword would have protected someone unworthy of wielding it?"

All of a sudden, you remember Pepp's words from yesterday - _I was afraid that you'd been badly hurt, but the Deku Tree didn't think the sword would allow that -_  and you remember how you'd been thrown away from the sword, pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Straightening, you glance back at the blade. It is ostensibly asleep, ostensibly just a sword.

_Legend says that an ancient voice resonates inside it. Can you hear it yet, Hero?_

You turn back to the Deku Tree, heart pounding.  _Why did it protect me?_

"It knows you," the Deku Tree answers. "It knows and answers to your soul, and yours alone. It seems your weakened state does not change that. I wasn't certain of it before, but I am now." The tree chuckles. "Perhaps your inability to pull the sword is its way of trying to protect you from yourself." At your questioning look, the tree elaborates. "It was quite reckless to try to claim the sword now. Who's to say that you wouldn't immediately want to challenge Ganon with the Master Sword in hand?"

You flush again and sign a defensive negation. You wouldn't.

The Deku Tree is still laughing at you. "I know," it says. "You aren't _that_ reckless, and thank Hylia _and_  the Golden Goddesses for that."

Rightly chastised, you say nothing, and Pepp pats your hand.

"In all seriousness," the Deku Tree continues, "the Master Sword's power is too much for your body to handle right now. You are still recovering from your long sleep. You must be patient, Link. I know that is difficult, particularly when grief has been reintroduced afresh." You duck your head, wondering how the Deku Tree could possibly know about that, and then you remember its claim about its roots. "But take your time and let yourself recover. Your moment will come, and then the two of you will be able to reunite. I am sure the sword wants that as much as you do."

* * *

You end up staying in the Korok Forest for three more days, recovering what you can of your strength. No impatience pushes you to get back out on the road - a first for you, but then again, you are utterly drained, and your most recent bout of impatience had ended disastrously.

There is no shortage of things to do. The Koroks are delighted to have someone agile and half as tall as Hestu around, begging you to play hide-and-seek and other games with them. Pepp is zealous about reminding them to let you take breaks, refusing to relinquish the role of caretaker, and you dutifully conceal your smiles and obey. The days pass languidly, and you experience another first - the passage of time doesn't rest with the weight of mountains on your shoulders, doesn't sit heavy and sick in the pit of your stomach. It is lighter, easier to carry. You almost feel guilty about it.

Finally, however, you climb your way back up to the state you were in before trying to pull the Master Sword - still weakened, still struck by fatigue at inopportune times, but able to function, more or less, as long as you take plenty of breaks and use elixirs liberally. You know that you cannot waste any more time here, as much as the forest calls to something deep within you that you can't name. A pull, a longing, a desire to stay. You don't know if the reason is a side-effect of spending time with spirits or buried in lost memory or something else.

The Koroks cluster around you to say farewell, wanting to bestow more gifts on you that you attempt to graciously decline, demonstrating how full your pack is already. Indeed, it's more stuffed than it had been when you'd arrived, even though you'd emptied some of it by giving gifts of your own. Nevertheless, flowers and mushrooms end up in your hair and pockets anyway. Gift-giving is a custom of theirs, and saying no to Koroks is a task that you don't think you'll ever be strong enough for.

Pepp hovers at your feet, sadness palpable. "You'll come back and visit, right?" the Korok asks morosely.

You crouch down to face it and nod. Reaching into one of your pockets, you pull out something that you'd spent a little while contemplating, pondering what would be best to gift your caretaker with. You hold it out in the palm of your hand, and a faint scent, tangy and burnt, wafts through the air.

"Oh," Pepp breathes. "For me?" You nod again, and the Korok's tendrils reach out and wrap around the glittering green-edged object. "This is a dragon scale!"

Not that long ago, you'd spent the better part of two days tracking down Farosh and nearly getting electrocuted in an effort to obtain that scale. According to Kass, one of Farosh's scales is necessary to awaken the Spring of Courage, which has gone dormant in the aftermath of the Calamity's rise. You haven't even managed to unearth it yet, but it's your hope that the ancient springs will assist you in further recovery, and you want to start with the one that your spirit is theoretically connected to. If you can actually find the place, that is; the royal records detailing its location are long lost, and right now, you have no memory of visiting the springs with the Princess, though Impa had assured you of it when you'd asked.

"It's so pretty!" Pepp hugs the scale close and looks up at you. "Are you sure? These are really rare!"

You nod and offer a thumbs-up.

Pepp extracts a tendril from around the scale and gives you an approximation of the gesture, giggling. "Thank you, Link! Good luck! Make sure you come back, okay?"

With yet another nod, you promise that you will. You rise from your crouch and step back, and you wave to the Koroks and the Deku Tree, who rumbles a farewell. As you pull out the Sheikah slate and the blue of long-forgotten technology and magic envelops your body, you set your sights on obtaining another scale.


	3. Beedle

When you present the Sheikah slate to Tasseren with Beedle's name written out, the stable owner shakes his head. "He's not here yet," Tasseren says, and a faraway rumble rolls across the sky, as if to ominously underlay the words.

You lower the slate and frown, resting a hand on your hip.

Tasseren doesn't need words for that. He shrugs, but he leans a little further forward as he does, peering out from under the colorful canopy and eyeing the graying sky. "He's been late before," Tasseren says. "Quite a walk from Akkala to here." He glances back at you. "That one's tougher than he looks, you know. Got to be, to make it on these roads."

Your frown remains, and you look north. The wind streams against your face, colder than the air around you and tangy with the scent of storm. You can feel it pinching the insides of your head, just above your nose. It'll turn into a headache soon if you're not careful.

"He'll be fine," Tasseren says. "Why don't you wait the storm out in here, eh? Goddess knows Beedle will probably stumble up right in the middle of it, all soaked."

Your gaze remains on the road. It winds northward and eventually coils its way through the mountains that rise up in the distance, leading to the village of Kakariko. A gray shroud blankets the mountains, and the air around Dueling Peaks Stable sits languid and heavy, its warmth clinging to every inch of your skin. What isn't gray is tinted an odd greenish-yellow, not unlike Farosh's glittering hide, but less vibrant, more wan.

The dwindling sunlight, the rippling grasses... all that sallow color, and that means it's a bad one on the horizon.

You shake your head, though you try to make it apologetic, and when you return your gaze to the stable owner, Tasseren looks resigned. "Well," he says, with a sigh and the well-worn air of someone who knows better than to argue with adventurers and the like, "good luck. Maybe you'll get a discount for being so considerate. Hey, why don't you take your horse?"

You consider it for a moment, but you shake your head again. You've kept a horse at every stable you've visited, just in case, and riding is a lot easier than walking and would save you some time and energy. But you'll be in the thick of lightning and thunder soon enough, and Pepper is too gentle for this kind of weather. She'd only be spooked, and a horse's skittishness would be more hindrance than help. If need be, you're small enough to take shelter practically anywhere, but a horse is not so lucky. 

Tasseren lets out another sigh. "Okay," he says dubiously and wishes you luck once more as you take your leave.

You maintain a steady pace, following the road north, and you don't let worry hasten your steps. It wouldn't do to run out of energy before you've even found Beedle. You've learned not to test your body too much, but you'll be testing it anyway by not resting at the stable like you intended to, and so you pace yourself. You'll be no use to Beedle or anyone if you collapse soon.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Beedle doesn't need you at all, and you're going to find the traveling merchant on his usual way, late for an innocuous reason. But Beedle keeps an immaculately tight schedule, one you've learned well. He's always at or near whatever stable the schedule says he'll be at when you arrive, and he's never been a full day late. At least, not that you've witnessed yourself. But you've seen firsthand how dangerous the roads are, especially for those who travel them often.

Or maybe you're just overreacting.

The wind gets colder, and you get more tired. There's a growing ache in one corner of your back at a particularly nasty knot of a scar, not to mention the one in your head, but you down a pain-relieving elixir, ignore it, and press doggedly onward.

The storm is still a few miles ahead, now a deeper, darker gray on the horizon, sweeping slowly over Kakariko's mountains. You watch it as you walk, and your mind volleys between worries about where Beedle might be and worries about, well... everything else. You try to distract yourself by thinking strategically instead. Odds are, you'll find Beedle just fine, on the road or taking shelter in Kakariko, and you'll have a good laugh about it. Maybe you'll need to take shelter in the wilderness if the two of you are still out on the road in the storm, and you mentally catalog potential locations, ones you've come across in all of your scrambling over every inch of this area.

But there are worse possibilities. If Beedle's been attacked, then you need to keep an eye out for signs of it, and if he's hurt, then you'll need to get him to Kakariko quickly. Either way, you may need to enlist the help of the Sheikah. You don't entertain other possibilities beyond that.

You've mulled over it more than once by the time you reach Kakariko Bridge, a few miles out from Dueling Peaks Stable, and that's when you see a familiar, hunchbacked figure on the other side of the river.

Even though the storm clouds to the north are darker than before, the air around you is brighter, a pale, electric yellow haze that paints everything in its hues. The rays of sunlight that thrust through the lighter gray clouds above are jagged and long, throwing the stone of the bridge and cliffsides ahead into sharp, shadow-edged relief. Beedle, however, is as shrouded in yellow haze as the mountains ahead are in gray, and so you don't notice the other figure until you've taken a few hasty, glad steps forward onto the bridge.

It becomes apparent that Beedle has stopped to attend to the figure, a man who stands on the riverbank just past the bridge, dressed in the worn clothes of a seasoned traveler. Both of them turn at your approach as you near the end of the bridge, and Beedle's face lights up. He throws a hand up to wave at you, grinning, and you return the smile as you near. Beedle seems to be unhurt and certainly in a good mood, and your own mood lifts every time you cross paths with him and his relentless cheer. Even the storm ahead seems less ominous.

But you don't relax entirely. The traveler stares at you, and it makes your skin itch as you step off of the bridge.

"Link!" Beedle says, turning to greet you. He wobbles as he does, and yet he never seems to fall, even with the enormous, beetle-shaped traveling pack of wares on his back that looks like it'll swallow him whole one day. "I think we must be destined to meet!"

You smile again and nod in agreement, and your eyes flick to the traveler, still staring at you, before returning to Beedle.

"I was just giving this man directions," Beedle continues, gesturing to the traveler, "and then, what do you know, he asked about you!"

You look to the traveler again, and your back twinges as you grow tense. Most of the people you've met don't know a thing about you at first, and there's a freedom in it that you've come to enjoy. The only people who do know of you tend to be people from the past you can't remember or people intimately connected to it. Either way, you wouldn't recognize this man, and yet you instinctively try to place him in your vanished memory as Beedle speaks again.

"He's heard about some of your adventures, and he wanted to meet you!" Beedle turns again and grins at the traveler. "It's your lucky day."

"Indeed," the traveler says. "This weather isn't so lucky, though. I hear it's going to be nicer tomorrow."

The statement is oddly casual and made stranger by the way the traveler's gaze hasn't left you once, as if Beedle no longer exists. The peculiar yellow light that heralds the storm seems to glint in his eyes.

Beedle persists undeterred, perhaps because he knows that you can't respond verbally, and you haven't pulled your Sheikah slate out or made any attempt to sign. "Yeah, that storm is a real knockout," Beedle says, glancing rather nervously over his shoulder. "It'll be nice to see blue skies again!"

Still, the traveler's eyes never waver from you, and you swallow, flexing the fingers of your left hand, inching them a little higher and a little backwards.

"Too bad you won't be alive to enjoy it," the traveler says to you.

Before Beedle can so much as get a "Wh-" out, you and the traveler move. Your sword is in your hand in the span of a breath, but as you draw it, you remember that you're tired and sore, and you're not as fast as your muscle memory tells you that you used to be. The time spent drawing the sword and readying yourself for both attack and defense is time for the traveler to strike an arm out towards Beedle, a sickle shining in his hand, called forth from nowhere.

The man abandons his traveler persona like a snake shedding skin, as the red-orange smoke of Yiga magic coils over him and replaces the worn garb with the uniform and mask. His sickle presses against Beedle's neck, and you freeze before you even have a chance to move forward, grinding your teeth together furiously as your sword shivers to a halt halfway in a one-handed ready position. The ache in your head spikes under the sudden onslaught of stress, cutting through the numbing effect of the pain-relieving elixir you'd taken.

Beedle stands equally frozen, eyes wide as they dart between you and the man. He looks a hair's breadth away from tipping over, as if the pack will take advantage of his sudden stiffness and drag him down with it at last.

"Now, which one of us is faster, Hero?" the Yiga asks, and though he faces you, his arm is as tense as a bowstring. You don't doubt his capabilities. "Do you want to try your luck? And before you do..."

You hear a pop-hiss, and red blooms in the corners of both of your eyes. You risk a glance, letting your gaze slip behind you for a moment, and you find three other Yiga surrounding you on all sides, two on the grass to your left and right, one on the road behind, all identical in mask and uniform.

You've only encountered one before, also disguised as a traveler. It had been enough to learn that their organization has it out for you, and it had been an anomaly. Not enough to mistrust every traveler you come across, but you're beginning to reconsider how you approach strangers on the road. You like meeting strangers, and the idea of mistrusting people by default adds to the anger stoked by the sight of a sickle pressing against a terrified Beedle's throat.

"You're going to drop your sword," the first Yiga says, and his conversational delivery only angers you further, "or I'll kill your friend."

You know it's a bad idea. These people want to kill you, and they're not going to waste time once they're sure you're an easy target. Your head hurts, and your back aches, and you haven't rested like you should. You know that you cannot afford to die. But you look at Beedle, and you know that you're going to drop your sword anyway. You don't think you're wired to act any other way.

You meet Beedle's eyes, intending to give whatever silent and paltry reassurance you can, that'll probably be rendered moot when there's a sickle sticking out of your back after you end up trying something stupid. But Beedle meets your eyes with something much more intense, and you stare, sword still clenched tightly in your fingers. You aren't sure what it is that Beedle is trying to convey, but you know that it's important, and so you don't release your grip just yet.

It becomes clear a second later when Beedle gestures wildly and the first Yiga recoils, dropping the sickle, clutching at his chest, and shrieking.

You don't waste a moment. You hurl yourself right, towards the Yiga closest to Beedle, and when you bring your sword around, you're met with the clang of a sickle blocking your strike. But unconscious memory buried in your muscles guides your hands expertly, and you disarm the Yiga in the next second. In the same movement, your sword catches the Yiga's side, and they stagger back, disappearing in a puff of red and a bright flash of an inverted Sheikah eye.

The one you'd encountered before hadn't stuck around the second she was injured, either.

You spin around, and your head spins too, dizzy and throbbing. The grassy ground seems to move beneath your feet like there's water just under the surface, and the ache in your back becomes a spasm that travels up your scars and into your sword arm, accompanied by a spike of warmth flushing your face, clashing with the cold air. With a frustrated huff, you take a second to ignore it and right yourself, taking stock of the situation as you do.

The first Yiga is gone, presumably magicked away like the one you just wounded, and the other two bear down on you. You barely have time to get your sword up to block one, with no time to go for your shield, and you stagger back a few feet in order to avoid the swing of the other.

You hadn't been able to register the sight of Beedle in the rush, and you have no idea where he is, but you know that neither Yiga would have had the time to go after him before descending on you. The rush of relief boosts you a little and gives you the stamina you need to sidestep the next swing and block the one after that. But they come in quick succession, the Yiga moving in coordinated motion, and you're tired and long past the point of needing rest.

The Yiga spin around, movements mirrored, and it's all you can do to avoid them, no longer blocking. You duck around the arcs of their sickles, and the leg underneath the ache in your back hits the grass knee-first, sending a jolt of pain and nausea up through your spine and stomach. You stagger, panic and shock dizzying you further, and you lose track of one Yiga. One is in your sights, coming in for the kill once more, but the other- the other-

You hear a cry from Beedle and a thump, and your panic doubles. You lunge forward, foregoing any swordplay for the option of tackling the oncoming Yiga by the knees, and the Yiga is so surprised that their swing flies wildly off base, missing you by a wide margin. The Yiga collapses, and the sickle goes flying, but you hang on to your sword and surge haphazardly to your feet.

The Yiga on the ground before you disappears in smoke and lights without even bothering to get up.

You spin again, and it feels even worse this time, but you need not have worried. The fourth and final Yiga clutches at their chest and cries out in a similar fashion to the first, and they stagger away, disappearing in mid-run.

You stand there, chest heaving, and wait for more, for any sign of further attack. But all you feel is the first droplets of cold, cold rain and a twisting queasiness in your stomach. All you hear and see is wind and thunder, yellow haze rapidly turning gray and Beedle watching you with wide eyes, holding a tree branch.

You focus your attention on Beedle and find him unharmed, and so finally you slide to the ground, an ungainly, undignified slithering of limbs and a clumsy swing so that the sword is not in your way. You don't even have the energy to lift your arms and put it back in its sheath. There's a nasty taste at the back of your throat, but you swallow hard and breathe deep against the way your stomach flops in rhythm with your pounding head. Stupid, stupid elixirs, not working like they should when you need them to.

Beedle drops the branch and hurries forward, and it strikes you that he looks odd. You think something must be wrong, until your mind catches up and realizes that he's taken the traveling pack off. You don't think you've ever seen him without it, and you stare, trying to make sense of the sight.

"Link!" Beedle exclaims, pulling you up. You sway on your feet, but with Beetle's hand on your arm, you stay upright this time, even though the air seems to swim. The sword hangs listless in your hand. "Are you hurt?"

You shake your head.

Beedle's eyebrows knit together in confusion for a moment, and then his face clears. "Oh, you must be tired!" he says. You've bought a lot of elixir ingredients off of him in the time that you've known him, and he's picked up a thing or two. He looks over you, concerned, then looks north. Tiny droplets hit you sporadically, carried on a sideways wind howling southward, and you know that bigger ones are coming en masse. The cold creeps over your too-hot skin. "That storm is almost here. We'd never outrun it now." Beedle looks back at you, face pinching in consternation.

You don't give him time to worry about what to do. You point to Kakariko Bridge, then jab your finger downward.

Beedle's eyes follow the gesture. "Un- under the bridge?" he asks. "There's shelter?"

You nod.

Beedle nods rapidly in turn and gives you another concerned look. "Do you need my help getting there?"

You shake your head, even though part of you yearns to give up now and let your body win its fight to stop for a while. But now that you're on your feet and the danger of falling over seems to have passed, you can walk, at the very least. You're used to shuffling around on sheer willpower at times, and this isn't the worst you've felt.

The two of you make it just ahead of the rain, crossing the bridge to the other bank, where rocks jut out of the river and let you hop over to the hideaway below. Beedle maneuvers his pack of wares with experience and deftness that belie his gangly frame. You follow with much less finesse, letting yourself flop down the bank, stepping slowly and gingerly over to the hideaway, as the sword becomes a kind of cane to help you keep your balance. Every step feels like a jolt to your back, like a bokoblin club is striking at the scarred knot there.

The hideaway is a small, shadowy alcove under the bridge, with just enough room for you, Beedle, and Beedle's pack. The cooking pot is there beside a clump of small boulders good for sitting, and the wood underneath is freshly burned by about a week, you estimate. As always, you wonder who frequents the place, but as always, no one is around.

Beedle seems delighted by the alcove, exclaiming that he's never known this was here, but he doesn't have the habit of falling into rivers while fending off monsters like you do. He replaces the wood under the cooking pot with fresh wood of his own and lights it, then insists that you take a seat at the rocks by the fire.

You'd protest, but you don't exactly have the energy to do much besides shuffle your feet. So you obey, slumping down against the rocks so that your aching back has something cold to lean against. The air is chilly now, and the wind whistles and howls, but the warmth of the fire feels good, a healthier warmth than the one under your skin.

You realize that your sword is still in your hand, unsheathed, as if glued there by instinct. But after a moment of bouncing on the heels of his feet uncertainly, Beedle takes it from you gently and sets it aside, within your reach. He helps you to remove the bow and shield and paraglider and travel pack from your back, too, and without them digging uncomfortably into your spine and weighing you down, you feel a little better.

But you still feel as if two of Beedle's travel packs are tied to your limbs and torso, as if you're trying to move every part of your body through water. Your head buzzes and throbs dully in the way it often does when it rains, and it makes your stomach flip in turn.

Beedle takes a seat opposite, on the other side of the cooking pot, folding his legs under him. Outside the alcove, the air flashes and the rain catches up, a sudden sheet hurling itself against the riverbank and dotting the water with a thousand tiny collisions that vanish and reappear in an endless dance. Here, under the bridge, not a drop reaches you. But the rain drills into your head, sharpening your headache to a nauseating degree as thunder rumbles. You consider taking another elixir for the pain, but the earlier one hasn't worn off yet and seems to have worked only somewhat. A second won't make much of a difference.

"Well, that was an adventure!" Beedle says, pitching his voice above the sudden din. "Thanks for saving my neck! I've never seen anyone move like you do."

You can move a lot better than that when you're less exhausted, and it's not a thanks you deserve, not least because Beedle had done half the work and had saved your neck too. He'd only been in that situation because you'd shown up; you doubt that the Yiga would have harassed him otherwise. It's clear that he would have made it to the stable in time to avoid the worst of the storm, too, and that nothing serious had delayed him, and you feel like a fool. You shake your head, and then, because Beedle looks confused, you lift your heavy limbs just enough to pull the Sheikah slate out and drag your fingers across the screen.

_My fault._

"Wha- oh, no, Link, it's not your fault that bad people are after you!" Beedle says, looking affronted at the very idea. "Ah... why _are_ they after you?"

He eyes you with that concern again, sincere and open, and you're seized by the impulse to tell him everything - about who you were one hundred years ago, and what you're supposed to do. But there's just so much, and you don't have the energy to type it all out. You sigh and key in a shorter explanation. _They think I'm a threat to them._

Beedle nods, looking very serious. "Well, you're my best customer, and everyone at the stables talks about how nice you are, so if you're a threat to those guys, they probably deserve it."

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, and you huff. Beedle speaks so earnestly, and there's never any reason to doubt that he means what he says. It makes you feel worse about the situation, and after a second of deliberation, you take a breath and force your stiff fingers to compose a new message.  _You were late and the storm was getting close, so I was coming to find you. I thought you might need help. That's why I was there. I didn't mean for you to get caught up in it. Sorry._

"Oh, don't worry about that!" Beedle says after he's finishing reading it. He waves a hand rather wildly. "That's not my first scrape. That's why I have my secret weapon! I call it Energetic Dust." He pulls a small vial from one of his pockets with a flourish. Its contents are pale yellow, something between a powder and an elixir, half full now. "I've thought about selling it as a product, but then I lose the element of surprise, you know? And that really saved me today! So it's my secret recipe."

You don't need to write anything out. You tilt your head and regard him curiously.

"Being a traveling merchant is pretty dangerous, so I had to find a way to defend myself," Beedle explains, shoving the vial back into his pocket. "I'm not much of a fighter, but energetic rhino beetles secrete a fluid than can be used as an instant poison if you know how to extract it and prepare it." He almost trips over his next words in his haste to clarify. "Not a lethal one, of course, but it sure does make the skin burn for days! It even goes through clothing, as long as metal armor isn't involved. Monsters don't wear that stuff, and that's usually who I have to use it against."

You listen to his rambling, forcing your lethargic mind to keep up, though it trails behind at a pace slower than the rapid way he talks. When he's finished and you've caught up, you smile again, a lopsided affair. It doesn't surprise you. No one could survive out there on the roads for long without something like that.

Beedle ducks his head a little, as if not sure where to look. It's hard to tell in the dim light, but you think the color of his cheeks deepens a little. "So... you were coming to find me?" A grin plasters itself across his face. "Well, don't I feel special!"

Your eyes are heavy, and your head still throbs, but you blink forcibly and keep your smile. You hold up a finger, then set the Sheikah slate down on your lap and reach over to your pack, digging around in it. You move slowly, but Beedle is patient, and when you pull out an elixir vial, empty of its usual contents and holding a certain insect instead, Beedle's face lights up.

"You came all the way out here just to give me this?" he asks, overjoyed, taking the vial as you hand it over and examining the energetic rhino beetle scuttling about inside. It makes you feel a little better about causing him to waste half of his secret weapon.

You spread your hands in half a shrug, then gesture to your bow. You're a frequent customer of his because of the rate at which you run out of arrows, and he's taken to giving you discounts on them because you buy them so much.

Beedle laughs. Your smile widens, and you wink. For a moment, you forget about your aches and your lurching stomach.

You're certain that he blushes now. "Aw," he says, becoming very interested in the vial for a moment before looking up. "You know what, it's on the house! I think anyone who comes looking for me in a storm deserves some free arrows!"

You try to protest, but Beedle isn't having it, and your attempt is interrupted by an enormous yawn that leaves you feeling even dizzier. Your eyes are desperately trying to close of their own accord, and you don't think this is going to be one of those times in which you're too tired to even fall asleep.

Beedle waves a hand at you again. "Go ahead, sleep!" he says. "I'll keep watch. This storm will be a few hours, anyway."

Again, you want to protest, but your body has other ideas, and unconsciousness seems like a much better option than the pain rippling through your head and back. You nod sleepily, slumping down even more, and your mind drifts away under the sound of Beedle offering to pull out a bedroll for you. The fire is warm, but the rocks are cold against your aches, and the wind and rain and thunder batter the insides of your head and echo strangely within the alcove, suffusing it with the electric scent of lightning. All things considered, it should be much harder to relax, and besides, what if other Yiga show up?

But for some reason, you aren't worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this was a romance game, I would marry Beedle in a heartbeat.


	4. Paya and Kakariko Village

It is early morning, misty and pink and cool, when you glide down from Ta'loh Naeg. From above, Kakariko Village is its tranquil green and red and brown, morning breeze stirring the pennants and trees as the murmuring of the waterfalls blankets the area with their eternal hum. From above, it looks as it always does, a pleasant sanctuary cradled by imposing rock. But you are aware that something has changed, even before you land in the central square.

Every settlement that you've visited has been the same – no matter how seemingly peaceful, an undercurrent runs through all of them, alert and ill-at-ease. The people of this world are used to fortifying themselves, to never letting their guard down or growing too complacent. Nevertheless, the security of Kakariko has seemed unfaltering to you. Maybe it's the location of the village, nestled at the end of winding roads between protective canyons and mountains, or maybe it's the watchful eyes of the warriors and Impa, guarding the village against outside threat.

Today, however, you tuck your paraglider away and cast your eyes about, and a change in atmosphere is apparent, more like the settlements and stables that lie on the edges of Central Hyrule than the Kakariko you've re-familiarized yourself with. Not many villagers are awake yet, but a few cluster together outside of their homes, whispering apprehensively, and you can see Dorian moving between them. At the foot of the stairs that lead up Impa's home, Cado stands alone. A ferocious scowl rests on his face, though it softens as you approach.

 _What happened?_  you sign.

Cado shakes his head. "An important heirloom was stolen last night," he answers. "We were standing guard the whole time, and yet this awful thing still happened. How could we have let someone sneak right past us?" He runs a hand over his face, sighing.

You look up at the house above, frowning.  _Can I go inside?_

Cado nods distractedly, and you take the stairs two at a time. Inside the house, in the main room, you find Paya seated on the floor in front of an empty pedestal beside the dais, her head buried in her hands, with Impa kneeling beside her. You vaguely remember a silver-orange orb that once rested on the pedestal, and now that it is no longer a fixture of the house, its absence is noticeable.

It's the first time that you've seen Impa without her ceremonial hat or bun; her white hair only just drops past her shoulders, and it dances freely as Impa glances at you and jerks her head to invite you over. You cross the main room and hesitantly crouch down next to her. Impa has a hand on Paya's back, and you can hear Paya's soft sobs now. She and Impa are both still in nightclothes. It can't have been long since they woke up and discovered that the heirloom was missing, and you feel a surge of anger as you listen to Paya cry.

She looks up at your approach. "Link," she says miserably, and her usual nervousness is absent. "I swear I only took my eyes off it for a second! What should I... what should I do? I'd finally discovered its secret!" Paya covers her face with her hands again, shuddering.

" _The hero, as chosen by the heirloom, will be gifted the blessing of antiquity_ ," Impa murmurs. "At least, that is the closest translation. Paya thinks it means you, which is why we sent for you. She's spent a long time researching this and finally came to the conclusion that the blessing of antiquity refers to one of the ancient shrines and that the heirloom is the key that will open a shrine. And of course," Impa sighs, "the thing was stolen just before you arrived." She rubs a hand soothingly over Paya's back as the girl hunches a bit lower.

"I'm in here regularly every day from morning to dusk," Paya says when she finally lifts her head again, facing you and Impa. "Someone must have stolen it during the deepest hour of the night. This place is off-limits to outsiders, and no one from the village would do such a thing! Would they?" She lets out an unhappy huff. "Someone with evil intent came into this sacred place. I’m glad Grandmother is safe, but I still feel so... violated." She shakes her head, staring at the floor.

Impa makes as if to get to her feet, but you are faster, and you jump up and offer her a hand. She takes it and pulls herself up with only a little stiffness. "Link..." she says imploringly, "Paya is afraid that the thief may still be nearby. Would you please stay by her side today? Until nightfall."

She meets your gaze as she talks, and you hear more under the words. She wants you under her eye today, for whatever reason, and she wants you around for nightfall as well. You nod and turn to Paya, offering your hand again, and she only hesitates a moment before taking it. You feel her hand trembling a little, but you pretend not to notice. Once Paya is on her feet, Impa reaches out and pats her arm.

"Try to have a normal day today," Impa says. "A routine will ease your nerves. We'll figure this out, and in the meantime, Master Link is a very capable swordsman." A tiny smirk crosses her face, and you wonder what it means or if you imagined it. "You'll be safe."

"What about you, Grandmother?" Paya asks.

Impa's eyes crinkle. "I'll be damned if I let any thief get the better of me," she says. "I'm a lot more sprightly than I look, you know."

Paya does not appear entirely reassured, but she nods, and Impa trades one last significant look with you before disappearing to her quarters. The message is clear - she is leaving her granddaughter in your care, and she expects you to take that seriously. When Impa is gone, Paya stands rooted to the ground for a moment, looking lost, before she drifts in the direction of the door.

After a second of hesitation, you reach out to catch her sleeve. Paya starts and looks back at you. "Wh- what is it?"

You grimace and sweep your hand up and down in her direction.

She glances down, realizes that she is still in her nightclothes, and turns nearly as red as a blood moon. "Oh!" she says, clasping her hands together. "I forgot! I need to change!" She avoids looking directly at you. "Uh... I-I'm sorry, I..."

You pull the Sheikah slate from your belt and type in a swift message as Paya falls silent. You hold the slate up for her.  _I'll wait here._

Paya nods again and flees up the stairs. She's up there for quite a while, and you spend that time inspecting the main room and all of its potential entrances, trying to determine how an intruder could have gotten in without alerting the guards or the inhabitants. The windows bolt from the inside and, along with the door, show no signs of tampering. In fact, aside from the missing heirloom, the place appears untouched and pristine.

You are still frowning over the windows when Paya finally returns. She is clad in her customary garb with her hair done up, and she looks a little more composed, although there is a lingering tinge to her cheeks when you make eye contact with her. She looks like she wants to tell you something, though not in the way you expect. She stands before you and makes a jerky but recognizable motion with her hands – bringing the tips of her fingers up to her chin, then sweeping her hand backwards.  _Thank you._

Your eyebrows arch as you stare, taken aback.

Paya winces, transitioning into wringing her hands together. "Was that not right? I was trying to say thank you, for agreeing to stay with me. I asked Grandmother and Cado and Dorian to start teaching me Sheikah signing, but I'm not very good yet."

 _It was good,_  you enter into the slate, which doesn't really sum up how wordless you feel at the gesture. You pull the slate back, type out a  _Why_ , and then you delete it. Your hand hovers over the slate for a moment before trying again.  _You don't have to do that._

"I want to," Paya says, and she meets your gaze with surprising steadiness. "Master Link, you're out there risking everything for us. The least I can do is try to make communication a little easier for you." The eye contact is abruptly lost as Paya desperately looks anywhere but you. "Assuming that you want to talk to me, of course."

You smile and imitate the gesture that Paya had performed.  _Thank you._

Paya returns a nervous smile, though it shifts into an apologetic expression. "I'm afraid it's not much use yet. I can understand a little, but I don't think I could hold a conversation at all."

 _Take your time,_ you type into the slate. Using it is not the same as the fluidity of sign language, but it doesn't bother you, and with Purah's upgrades, it's gotten more efficient. You don't mind.

You leave your travel pack by the door and follow Paya out.

* * *

Falling into step behind Paya is familiar in a way that few things are. You think you know why - snatches of memory have come back to you, but your body remembers more, and you find yourself three steps behind Paya on instinct as she moves through the village. You stay by her side for the entire day, and you learn that more goes into leadership than you thought. Paya's job, besides her studies and devotions, is to help Impa tend to the needs of Kakariko. For the most part, this means listening to minor grievances and keeping track of who needs what and who is doing what with what, which means that Paya spends much of her day on the move.

At first, your presence makes her more jumpy, not less. She glances back at you more than once and gets flustered when you notice, and her steps are jerky, alternating between too fast and too slow. She can barely focus when she stops in front of the guardian deity statues to bow her head for a moment, and you stand off to the side and look deliberately and only at the offerings at the feet of the statues, hoping to put her at ease. There are more offerings than you remember seeing before, fruits and vegetables and even a few personal items.

When the two of you make the next stop at Enchanted, you get the sense from Claree's widening grin that Paya talks differently when you're not around. Claree insists that you _must_ stay so that she can use you as an impromptu mannequin for some last minute checks on a repaired jacket for Steen, even though she has plenty of mannequins and you're much smaller than Steen. You think it's just an excuse to drape you in clothing that's too big and poke you with needles, a ridiculous sight, but Paya muffles giggles behind her hand, and you dutifully maintain a straight face and allow it.

When she's done, Claree asks the two of you to take the jacket to Steen, and Paya's steps are less skittish as you leave the shop. She still glances back at you on occasion, but the more she talks to the villagers, the more she seems to forget her nerves, trading them for a pleasant calm that soothes even Steen's frazzled demeanor. Steen tells Paya to tell Cado to keep his cuccos out of the carrot patch and to tell Olkin to stop skulking around at night, so you go to Olkin, who denies it, and to Cado, who is much too worried to care.

"I'm just shaken by this thief business," Cado says. He stands rigid and white-knuckled in front of the elder's house. "You tell Steen that his carrots don't matter right now."

Paya nods gravely, in a way that makes you think she probably won't. "Where is Dorian?" she asks.

"He went back inside to check the place again." Cado shakes his head. "He's even more cut up about it than me."

Paya's eyes flick up to the house, and a tiny furrow appears in her forehead, concern evident before it smooths out. You wonder what she's thinking, but this isn't the place to ask. As the two of you take your leave of Cado, Paya heads towards the High Spirits Produce Shop to the left of the elder's house. Her steps are swift, and you have to adjust your pace to keep up, passing the guardian deity statues and their extra offerings in a flash. Paya veers off before she reaches the shop, heading instead for the nearby tree and the outdoor cooking pot underneath, where Koko stands and mimes tossing ingredients into the empty pot.

"Hello, Koko!" Paya calls out as the two of you approach.

"Hello, Paya!" Koko echoes, pausing in her imaginary cooking to wave. "Hello, Master Link!"

You wag your fingers in answer as you reach the shaded area, and Paya asks, "How are you today?"

"Koko is just fine, thank you!" the girl says, but the smile on her face isn't as bright as you remember. You wonder if she's picking up on the mood of the village. Or her father. Kakariko is not as unsettled as it had been when you'd arrived, but you can still feel it in the air. A sense of unease lurking under thatched rooftops and between gates, in the way the villagers look over their shoulders or talk a little more quietly than normal.

Paya nods, the hint of a frown on her face. "Where is Cottla?"

The smile leaves Koko's face in an instant. One of her hands begins pulling at the hem of her jacket, and through she clearly tries to summon up the smile again, it comes out as more of a grimace. "Cottla is at the forest."

You are immediately aware of how Paya tenses, and you feel your muscles respond in turn. "It isn't safe right now," Paya says, and her hand reaches out to grab your arm for a moment before releasing it as if burned. "We need to go and get her, alright, Koko?"

Koko's eyes widen as she looks between you and Paya. "Koko can help!"

"No, no," Paya says. "You need to stay here. When we bring her back, you have a big job to do. You need to keep her in the village with you for the rest of the day, okay?"

Koko considers it for a moment, then nods. "Okay!"

Paya scurries back the way you'd come, following the path that leads up to Ta'loh Naeg and beyond, and you keep pace. You can't fault her for her worry, between the break-in and the frequency of monsters lurking in the dark corners of forests. You manage to worry yourself with imagined scenarios too, before you find Cottla on the curve of the path that angles past the shrine, peering out into the forest. Though you know that only the Great Fairy sleeps beyond, the shadows under the leaves seem a little more ominous now, even in the light of day. The densely packed trees, usually an inviting place of fairy whispers and welcome green shade, house a thousand places for someone to hide just out of sight.

"Cottla!" Paya says, and it's the first time you've ever heard anything close to sharpness in her voice, though there's mostly relief underneath. She marches forward up the path, and all of a sudden, you can see the resemblance between grandmother and granddaughter in more than looks. "You shouldn't be out here!"

"Mother and I are playing hide-and-seek!" Cottla says, not even sparing a glance for the two of you.

Paya comes to stand in front of the girl in order to catch her attention, and you think she looks a little stricken. "You can play hide-and-seek later," Paya says, her voice growing softer. "Your mother won't mind waiting until tomorrow."

"No!" Cottla says, stomping her feet and craning her head to peer around Paya, at the forest. "I'm looking for Mother!"

The stricken look becomes a little more visible, and you step forward, pulling the Sheikah slate from your belt and tapping a message into it. You crouch down next to Paya, in front of Cottla, and hold it up. The girl stares at it intently for a moment, her eyes moving over the letters, and then she looks up at you and announces, "I don't know how to read yet!"

You snort, and Paya smiles. You let her see the message before you erase it and reattach the Sheikah slate to your belt. "He's asking you if you want to play with him," Paya says.

"No!" Cottla says, and she stomps her feet again. "I'm playing with Mother!"

It's not hard to surmise from Paya's face that Cottla and Koko's mother is no longer around. Paya bites her lip, then glances to the side, catching your eye. You get the sense that she's not just going to leave Cottla out here by herself, which means that either you'll be reassigned in your guard duties or that you and Paya will have to carry a screaming child back to the village. Neither is an appealing option.

Some deeper instinct tells you to stay by Paya's side, that danger lurks somewhere close, and besides, you wouldn't want to face Impa if you left her granddaughter by herself after being expressly ordered otherwise. However, you haven't exhausted every option just yet, and you think back to what little you know of the girls. Cottla is much more adventurous than Koko, you remember.

You hold up a finger, catching Cottla's attention. Then you rise from your crouch and take several steps back, further up the path, stopping when you are nearly at the forest's edge. Paya stands as well, moving aside and regarding you curiously. You crouch once more, bending your head and turning your attention to the air around you. The day is warm and breezy, and you reach out to the wind, not with your hands, but with your mind. With the magic gifted to you by a ghost. You can almost hear Revali mocking you for wasting time on games.

You pay attention to the way the air moves lazily over your skin, to the way it feels a little cooler as clouds pass before the sun, and as always, it's a crisp north wind that swirls around you, thick with the scent of pine and the hint of snow. It hurtles skyward into an updraft, and you rise with it, whipping your paraglider off of your back and letting the vortex lift you high. You feel an immediate strain snaking through the lines of scars on your skin, the magic draining you of energy as it always does. But you're feeling good today, and you hear a delighted shriek below, so you let yourself drift down slowly, landing on top of the shrine a bit unsteadily.

Cottla is bouncing up and down in her excitement, tugging on Paya's jacket. Paya stands with her hands clasped together, laughing as she looks up at you. You straighten the paraglider out with a flourish and turn it into half a bow at the waist, dipping your head in her direction. Paya's hands rise up to her mouth, smothering an embarrassed grin, and you smile and taking a running leap off of the shrine.

Another shriek of excitement echoes as you drift down, this time towards the central square of Kakariko's lowest level, and you can see Cottla tugging Paya along the path you took to find her, back down towards the village. You keep an eye on them even in the air, ready to summon the gale once more and pull out your bow, but no danger presents itself. Cottla isn't far behind, dragging Paya behind her, by the time you land in front of the Goddess pond, and you are nearly sent careening off balance and into the pond when Cottla launches herself at your legs.

"My turn!" she says. "My turn, my turn!"

Mindful of the sudden worry in Paya's eyes, you manage to negotiate a deal with Paya acting as interpreter - three jumps off of the rocky terrace that rises a little higher than your head and houses the second level of the village, with you lying and regretfully informing Cottla that the magic is gone for now. Though Koko shows up, drawn by the noise, she isn't as keen on adventure, and so only Cottla clings to your back as you take running leaps off of the terrace and float to the center of the village square. Your audience consists of Paya and Koko standing near the pond, and Cado and Dorian at their post at the foot of elder's house, and a few amused passers-by.

"Father, look!" Cottla yells as you touch down the first time.

Dorian smiles and nods, but there's something distant in his eyes. Something on his mind. You observe him out of the corner of your eye as Cottla drags you back towards the terrace and as you land again and again. You keep your gaze surreptitious, but Dorian is too preoccupied to notice anyway.

By the time you're done, you're confident that Cottla has forgotten about hide-and-seek for now. She babbles about your magic to Koko as you tuck the paraglider into its sling on your back, and then she whirls around to face you. "Master Link, why can't you talk?"

Paya convulses a bit, as if to reach out and physically stop Cottla from asking. "Cottla, it's rude to ask personal questions like that," she says, giving you an apologetic look.

But you shake your head and shrug. You don't mind questions from children. You glance in Cado and Dorian's direction, and your hands move.

"He says he was born with an injury in his throat," Dorian says. "But Paya is right, Cottla. Sometimes it isn't nice to ask questions."

"Sorry, Master Link!" Cottla says cheerily, not sounding sorry at all, and then she seizes your arm. "Will you play with us?"

Paya catches your eye, hiding another grin. "I need to talk to Cado and Dorian," she says, and her look becomes pointed. You get the message - your official job, while she's busy with that, is to distract the girls.

So you let yourself be dragged around by tiny hands for a while. Koko is still looking a little forlorn, and you manage to convince Cottla that it's her sister's turn to pick the game. So you and Cottla find yourselves helping Koko to cook at the outdoor pot under the tree - Cottla with the self-assigned job of watching and talking, and you with the Koko-assigned job of finding ingredients and supervising.

You snag an apple from the nearest guardian deity statue with a quick, silent apology to whatever gods or spirits are watching, and make a short trip to the produce shop with the girls in tow, where Trissa smiles and offers to sell you goat butter at half price. Eventually, you and Cottla are gifted with hot buttered apples and sticky fingers, and you promise to bring back meat and honey on your next visit for other dishes that Koko wants to try.

Then, naturally, Cottla decides that it's her turn again, and Paya finds you sprawled on the ground with two tiny children pinning you down and declaring their victory, after they found your sneaky hiding place next to the arrow shop.

There's a troubled furrow in Paya's brow, but it smooths out when you give her an upside-down grin. She shoos the girls off of you and ushers them back home. "It's lunch time," she says when they protest loudly. "And you need to give Master Link a break."

After the girls are gone, with farewells and promises of later games, Paya looks at you and bites her lip. You know you're covered in grass and dirt and no small amount of goat butter, and a little soreness is creeping through your scars, but you feel light. Happy. It's nice, you think, to forget about destiny for a while. You don't even remember the last time you tried it. Your disastrous stay in the Korok Forest, maybe?

"Thank you," Paya says. "Their mother passed recently, and, well... Dorian hasn't been in the best place lately." She grimaces and ducks her head a little. "Please don't take that as a judgment of his character. I can't imagine what he's going through. I'm just... I've been trying to help keep on eye on the girls until he's feeling better."

You offer her a quiet smile, once again struck by the kindness that she offers so readily. Paya looks at a point past you, not quite meeting your eyes. "Would you like to clean up?"

* * *

The two of you have lunch in the elder's house, in the small kitchen and dining area behind the main room. Impa is nowhere to be found, but Paya tells you that it's common for her grandmother to come and go on her own business. The meal is a simple affair that you help out with, and as the soup takes shape, Paya talks animatedly about her studies. She hardly seems bothered by your proximity, even when the two of you end up performing the awkward dance of small kitchens, but when you sit down at the low table with a bowl of cream of vegetable soup each and a side of plums, her words trail away.

As you tuck in, she stares down her bowl, her eyes distant. When it carries on for several seconds, you pull out your Sheikah slate, type in a message, and slide it across the table. _Are you okay?_

Paya returns to the present when she notices the slate, jumping a little. "Oh!" she says. "I'm sorry. Grandmother says I have a tendency to become preoccupied."

When she doesn't say anything further, you reach out and push the slate forward another inch.

Paya smiles, not her usual nervous style, but quiet and appreciative. "I'm just worried," she confesses. "Though I suppose I always am. The world outside is a harsh place, and the worst of it wants to corrupt good places like this if it can." She sighs. A hand goes up to her hair, pushing strands back into place. "Kakariko has faced threats before, and ones much worse than this, but none that I was old enough to remember." Her eyes fix once again on the table, this time deliberately. "That's what happened to my parents. I suppose that's why I worry for Koko and Cottla so much."

You pull the Sheikah slate back, but you don't know what to say. Words are not your strength in any sense. Do you try to relate? You're sorry? You lost your parents too?

You don't even remember them, you think, with a tightening of your throat that comes and goes. All you have is what King Dorephan was able to tell you, a kind of loss that's hard to pin down. The loss of possibilities? Of memories you could have had? Maybe it's similar enough, you think, if Paya was young enough to remember little of losing her own parents. But how do you go about saying that you understand?

Paya saves you the agony of figuring it out by continuing. "That reminds me," she says, looking up and meeting your gaze hesitantly. "I wanted to thank you, actually. Ever since you woke up, Grandmother has been so much happier. She's had to carry so many burdens, and she's lost so much. I think getting you back has given her hope again. And if you get the Princess back..."

Paya's eyes are misting, and she falls silent for several moments. She stops looking you directly in the eye too. But you don't move.

"I don't... I don't mean to add to your burdens," Paya continues. "I know how hard you're trying. I have faith that you will succeed, and Grandmother does too, even if she gives you a hard time sometimes. A-and," Paya trips over the words a bit in her haste to clarify, "I don't mean to insinuate that your only value to us is your mission. Your presence here on its own has given Grandmother back something that she lost. I just wanted to thank you for that."

You remain still, weighed down by a sudden melancholy in the pit of your stomach. By the reminder of the gaps in your memory, the fragments of who you once were. Something that Impa lost. You don't even remember what that is. You'd already known that you must have spent some time here in the past, because you know Sheikah signing, and much like Zora's Domain, a familiarity without source has dogged your steps every time you've set foot here. Another loss that you can't define. But Impa has said little about it, and you haven't been able to bring yourself to ask her.

Again, you don't know what to say. _You're welcome_ is the automatic answer, but for what? You haven't really done anything. But that's not Paya's point, and you think you understand that too. You've been learning - or re-learning - the value of presence. Every time you find shelter from the wilds in pockets of civilization, you remember.

Maybe you should work up the courage to ask Impa about it soon.

 _You're welcome_ still doesn't feel right, so you nod and type something else, and Paya waits. You show her the slate with  _Thank you for having me here_ etched out and accompany it with a gesture, sweeping your hand back from your chin.

Paya smiles. "You're always welcome here, Link."

You smile in return, and Paya suddenly becomes very interested in her soup, which widens your smile a bit. But you don't want to ruin the moment, and so you don't tease. You continue eating, and Paya eventually gathers herself enough to engage in small, safe conversation again.

It carries the two of you through the clean-up and out the door once more, past Cado and Dorian. Paya stops to ask them if there's been any change or news, and as Cado tells her that there hasn't been, reassuring her of their renewed commitment to keeping her and the village safe in a fervent way that makes you think he'll be saying it for a while, you watch Dorian. You note his quiet and disquiet and the way that his eyes shift in a singular direction, up towards the shrine and the forest, unlike Cado's agitated roaming. You think that maybe it's a little easier to see, to distinguish from Cado's worries, when you are a friend but not a villager, not predisposed towards giving anyone here the benefit of the doubt. You remember how Impa wanted you to stay until nightfall.

And that evening, after Paya thanks you for staying by her side and asks you to stay safe in the meantime, you leave the elder's house, and you know what to do.


	5. Wolf Link

The Hebra Mountains are, in your professional adventuring opinion, the worst place in the world.

Sometimes you wonder if it's even worth it to find the shrines hidden away in the region. But it's half the reason you travel as much as you do. One more shrine is one more chance to recover some degree of physical strength, however small, and you need all the help you can get. Cold - or at least, the awful, awful cold of Hebra - makes your scars and joints ache, and today you've learned that sudden snowstorms rattle around in your head in much the same way that rainstorms do.

All things considered, maybe scaling a cliff right now isn't the best idea.

Your find purchase in icy stone one stiff reach at a time, and even gloved and garbed in Rito-made fabric, even bolstered with elixirs, it _hurts_. But you grit your teeth and haul yourself up a few more centimeters, biting your lower lip to keep a groan from slipping out and wasting precious air. You're going to need a break once you reach the top. But how well-rested could you possibly feel in the middle of a snowstorm? You didn't even know that many places in your body _could_ hurt.

You could always just give up for now. Paraglide down, warp back to Rito Village, try again later.

You think you catch a glimpse of the top of the cliff as you pause for some paltry rest. It's hard to gauge the distance in the vicious flurry of snow and wind, but the sight energizes you enough to dismiss the notion of quitting. Only a few more minutes, and then you can rest your screaming, aching muscles for a while. Only a few more minutes of reaching and pulling and clinging to minuscule indentations in the stone. You can do this.

You reach up, pull yourself a little higher, and your mind, as frozen as your body, does not react with its usual speed. You are only aware of it when it's too late – a gray-white shape at odds with the contours of the cliffside, but only just. It's too well-camouflaged for your exhausted senses to notice right away, and it's as if the stone itself moves.

Your sluggish mind registers the danger when something even colder than the air and the snow envelops the left side of your body. You start, and your grip slips, even as you think, _Lizalfos._ A moment later, pain arrives, the icy breath of the creature eating through the fabric covering your shoulder and burning your skin like cold, cold fire. The air rakes its claws down your throat as you gasp.

The shape above is moving, intent on its prey. You need to defend yourself, need to get a weapon in one hand and cling for your life with the other.

But the shape gets further away all at once in a rush of stinging air, and you realize belatedly that you're falling.

* * *

Cold. Aching cold, the deepest chill you've ever felt. Cold and pain and throbbing cold-icy-hurt-pretty-sure-something's-broken, and oh, Goddess, someone make it _stop_.

 _Get up, Link,_ someone tells you. Like your mind's voice has suddenly gotten older and demanding.  _Get up._

A silent whimper drags itself up from the depths of your stomach, and with it, half-frozen eyelashes manage at last to pry themselves open. You can't see, you decide upon initial evaluation. It's all gray-white and nothingness, like the Sheikah slate when it has no data to offer. Are you dead? Again? Why does death hurt so much?

 _You need to get up,_ your mind's voice says, as if it's your fault that you can't.

It probably is. Something happened to put you in this state. You're more or less certain of that, but you are hazy, disjointed, flitting between thoughts without much in the way of solid bridges between them, and memory struggles to cross.

Memory. Something worse than cold and icy hurt grips you, chills you down to the bone.

Fear.

Remember. You have to remember. You can't forget _again_.

 _But you know, there's a fine line between courage and recklessness. As brave as you are, that does not make you immortal_ , Zelda tells you, gently admonishing you for an array of monsters that lay dead by your hand.

The lizalfos. The cliff.

You _fell_.

You used to handle scores of enemies with hardly any trouble, if that fleeting memory is anything to go by.

You blink frosty eyelids, and it takes an age and a half. The scene above you becomes no clearer in the meantime. The snowstorm still rages, and its frigid breath snakes through lizalfos-rent holes in your snowquill coat, numbing your left arm so badly that it might as well not be there at all. You _need_ that arm, you think indignantly. You don't have time to waste on learning to use your right hand instead.

 _You need to move, Link,_ your mind's voice says. _Or you will die._

Ah. So it's not death that hurts this much. It's dying. You let your eyes slide shut, blocking out the sight of the thing slowly murdering you. You can't die out here. You can't die _again_. People need you.

 _You need to get up,_ your mind's voice insists. _You need to try._

Does it not realize that you can't? But it doesn't matter. With a jolt, you remember that you have methods of getting out of any situation. You stretch your right arm with painstaking effort, finding it a little easier to move than the left, and reach for the holster on your belt that houses the Sheikah slate.

Your fingers scrabble at nothing.

In a testament to your deteriorating state, the horror you feel is muted, disproportionately small for a dire situation. You grasp uselessly, trying to find the Sheikah slate, and come up empty once again.

It's gone. You must have lost it in the fall.

You're truly going to die out here. The thought floats by, and you examine it with detached interest. You try to tell yourself that this is unacceptable, that you need to move, to find some kind of shelter, anything, but nothing happens. As if the cold is sucking the life out of you before you're even dead.

Dead _again_.

The injustice of it all almost gets you to move. You think one of your hands flops weakly before giving up. You also think that it probably hurts, but you can't tell anymore. Death feels closer. Too close.

Maybe it's a good thing, you think, with another jolt of memory. Mipha's healing only works when you're close to death, after all. You've tried not to need it too much, but the few close calls that you've had... your rush of hope chills almost as quickly as it had flared, leaving you numb again. Mipha's ability is certainly powerful, but it's not fully restorative. It's kept you from death but left you utterly exhausted afterwards, and you would still be out here. Still miles from any settlement, alone, nearly frozen, with a lizalfos nearby.

You don't even know if Mipha's power can fix something like freezing to death. With how drained you are right now, you certainly won't have enough reserves of strength for it to work a second time if you die after being revived. That would be embarrassing.

Something moves in the corner of your vision. You are too cold, too tired to care, but your head is drawn in that direction anyway, falling listlessly to the side even though it seems to take an age for your frozen muscles to work. Your vision is trembling, but after a while, it focuses enough, or the swirling snow momentarily clears enough, or the creature gets close enough, for you to understand.

You aren't going to freeze to death out here. You're going to be _eaten_.

Oh. Great.

You wonder if your consciousness is slipping, because one moment the creature is still some distance away, and then it's looming near, and a flinch shakes your frame.

You've never seen a wolf that big, and you are going to _die_.

The wolf dips its head down towards you, and you brace for the inevitable, looking up at the white static sky, thinking about how you've failed the Princess, and everyone you've met or re-met since you woke up, and the rest of the world with them. Again.

A warmth that you can barely feel nudges at you, and the pain of teeth tearing into flesh does not accompany it.

You blink up at the maelstrom of grey and white above and then drag your eyes back to the wolf. It noses at you with growing insistence, then abruptly lifts its head and looks directly at you. It's _glaring_ at you. You would swear it.

The wolf shoves its head against your side again, and underneath the shrieking of the wind, you think you hear it growl. Its flashing eyes find you again. It wants you to get up.

 _I can't_ , you want to tell it, but that would require the ability to lift your arms and sign, and you don't think a wolf would understand, anyway.

It seems to understand something, at least, maybe from the pathetic look you give it. Its jaws snap, and you flinch again, but it only grips the upper portion of your sleeve with remarkable dexterity, and the Rito fabric holds. Slowly but surely, the wolf tugs at you, lifting your upper body off the ground. It's so _warm_ , and the sensation gives you a sudden breath of strength, just enough to weakly grasp at its fur. You keep expecting the creature to turn on you or disappear, but the wolf waits patiently, letting your clothes slide out of its teeth, as you struggle to wrap your arms around its neck and get your lower body to move.

You know what it wants. Get up. Get up, Link.

And somehow, with the presence of its warmth soaking into you, you manage, clambering onto its back and sinking your face into its thick fur.

The wolf is just big enough to carry you, but you've always been small. You feel it set off, and though you barely have the strength to hold on, it doesn't let you fall. Things blur; landscape seen out of the corner of your eye is formless, cloaked in patterns of white death, and time no longer has any meaning. You catch a glimpse of a dead lizalfos in the snow, and you wonder what happened, but you don't spare it much thought.

Your eyes long to close. You fight it, fearing that you'll lose your grip and fall, or never wake up again, but in the end, you have no choice in the matter.

* * *

Something delightfully soft cushions you on one side, something unforgivingly hard on the other, and you reach out before your eyes have even dragged themselves open. Freezing stone meets your left hand, shocking the sensation of cold and pain back into your awareness, and warm fur meets your right, shocking memory back into your mind.

The wolf. The cliff. Your fall.

It takes a while for your eyes to peel open and stay that way, but gradually, it becomes easier to resist their desire to close. Above you is the curve of stone, and you realize that you're in a cave. More of an indentation in the mountainside, actually. The wolf is curled up close on your right side, pressing you up against the back wall of the shallow formation. Shielding you as best it can from the elements, from the snowstorm that still rages outside.

You turn your head and stare at it.

Sensing this, the wolf lifts its head, glancing sideways at you as its ears twitch. Here, a little bit warmer and less close to dying, you can see the intelligence in its blue eyes, and you take note of each odd detail. The markings on its forehead look like symbols of some kind, and are those earrings? You run a hand through the creature's thick gray fur and notice that its left leg is encircled with a silver manacle and the remnant of a broken chain. There's something distinctly _other_ about it, like its lines and curves are hazy, ill-defined. Like its full being escapes you, like you are only seeing parts of a whole that exists beyond your sight.

A spirit, you think wonderingly. You're closer to spirits than most, able to see Koroks and find the dragons at a rate considered astonishing by those who make a hobby of it. But you've never heard of a wolf spirit like this. And you'd heard it speak in your head, though the voice seems to have gone silent now.

Why did it save you? And why is it looking at you like that, like it knows you? Why does that make you want to cry?

You have no answers, and the wolf doesn't seem forthcoming, so your head flops back, and you look up at the stone ceiling again, blinking away the burning in your eyes. You are still chilled to the bone, and you're no longer numb to the feeling. To any feeling. It hurts all over, especially the places where your scars are thickest and your left shoulder, which throbs with probable frostbite. Set against that backdrop, the thought of trying to search for your Sheikah slate is almost too much to bear. Who knows how long that will take? You don't even have your pack anymore, which means no elixirs to help. All you have left is your weapons and shield and paraglider, which press uncomfortably against your back and side. At least you didn’t lose those.

Despair creeps up on you, and you twist your fingers into the wolf's fur. It emits a low whine, as if commiserating with your distress, and then it shifts, sitting up and facing you. It nudges you with its nose, and slowly, painfully, you lift yourself into a sitting position as well, facing the wolf in turn. No agonizing pain shoots through you as you do; it doesn't feel like anything's broken after all. The bruising will be horrendous, however, and you hit your head hard enough to worry, not to mention whatever damage the cold has done to you.

You go through your limited options, your thoughts slow and heavy, as your fingers card through the wolf's fur. You could try to make it to Snowfield Stable and enlist help there. But it's so far, and if you waste too much time, the Sheikah slate is likely to be so buried by snow and ice that finding it would require the advent of summer, a season that Hebra doesn't even have.

The slate is a connection to your past, a vital tool in traveling the land and healing, a form of communication for you. The thought of losing it hurts worse than the cold.

You know that, regardless, Snowfield Stable is the only choice you have. You need food and warmth and most likely medical attention as well. You'll die if you try to go out and search for the slate on your own, and even Mipha's power will not be enough to get you out of the cold after you do. But even just getting to the stable seems like an insurmountable task, when your fingers are still so stiff that you don't think you could properly wrap them around the hilt of a sword.

With a groan, you lean forward into the wolf's neck, and it sits as patiently as it had before, letting you cling to it again. You're too cold to cry, even though you want to.

One mistake after another, and you've been doing that for a hundred years. Some Hero you are.

The wolf shifts and gently withdraws itself from your grip. You blink tiredly as it noses at your side, where your Sheikah slate usually rests. It glances up at you, then drops its head to your side again, then lifts it back up.

You stare, processing it slowly.

The wolf noses at your side again, insistent, then bounds to the front of the cave. It looks back at you, its eyes imploring, and you get the strangest impression that you can understand what it's trying to say.

_Wait._

Then it's gone, disappearing into the whistling chaos outside.

You stare after it, hardly comprehending, and you don't have enough presence of mind to really contemplate whether the wolf is undergoing the search for you or else just abandoning you. Devoid of its warmth, you are much colder. You curl in on yourself and shiver and don't allow yourself to hope or despair or feel much of anything at all.

You aren't aware of nodding off. All you are aware of, in the next moment, is the thump of something in your lap, and your eyes struggle to open again.

The Sheikah slate gleams atop your legs. In front of you, the wolf sits, covered in snowflakes and specks of blood, looking supremely pleased with itself. Its tail is actually thumping against the ground like one of the stable dogs.

You blink several times and touch the Sheikah slate with trembling fingers. It is freezing and wet and real.

A lump forms in your throat. You reach up to rub the wolf behind its ears, gazing at it in awe, and then, because it feels natural, you wrap your arms around its neck again. It leans into you, pushing its head against your shoulder, and the lump in your throat grows. You bury your head in the wolf's warm fur, and a few tears leak out of the corners of your eyes.

When you pull back, it stares at you for a moment longer, its eyes gentle. Then it turns and heads for the front of the cave again. It pauses and looks back, and this time, you know that it's saying farewell.

You nod. There's an ache deep in your chest that you don't understand.

The wolf vanishes like a ghost in the snow, swallowed up by the white and the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amiibo NPCs count if I say they do!


End file.
